(I wrote these words on Christmas morning and wasn’t sure if I should post them. For many the Christmas season comes to end with Epiphany. I pray, however, that the wonder of the incarnation be with us throughout the year to come.)
I look beyond my computer screen out of my office window into an unfolding day. The peach color of the dawn sticks around unusually long. The light hangs on to a thin fog, does not want to give way to the bright light of day. Hoarfrost is forming. Millions of ice crystals begin to layer across nature. The fog does not discriminate as it wraps a brittle blanket around every stick, every dried blade and every crinkled leaf – over and over. There is such beauty in this cold as it lingers and clings.
It’s only an hour later when Scott and I drive in silence to our friends’ house for a Christmas brunch. There are no sounds of kids ripping into gifts and chatter in the kitchen this year for these empty nesters. The trees next to the road look as if they dance in half circles as we pass them. By now the dawn has capitulated to a strong and bright light of late morning. The frost-covered world seems peaceful here, under a clear blue sky. For a brief moment, as I take in this ethereal beauty in the cluster of the willow trees ahead, I feel the Maker’s hand all around me. Along the highway patches of dried milkweed and venerable goldenrod bend and glisten in the sun, as if an invisible Artist dusted the world with diamonds. There is no traffic this Christmas morning, and I feel as if I am nature’s sole beholder.
I sense that God sees me and, and with a strange assurance, I know He knows me. His hand feels heavy but real and loving. I realize my childlike need to impress Him with my fickle deeds, with gifts I can’t afford. What could I possibly possess or give that would stir Him, the One who commands the sun to shine?
Maybe if I were more patient, kinder, be less envious and boastful, less proud, would He be more inclined to stay? I feel exposed in this cold, before Him who rules all things.
Christmas. A stable. Only a child. Gifts given and received. The King of Kings incarnate. For a moment I think I understand. I don’t need to impress or try so hard. He knows what it means to be frail. He has forgiven. He alone judges. My expectations on others along with my deep need to be heard and understood seem to melt, become as fickle as ice crystal in the winter sun, crush under His love. God help me to stay here, in the freedom of your grace.
I have no gifts. I come empty handed – and that is ok.
(Picture and essay, ©2025 Heidi Viars)
Heidi Viars 
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